


All That I Can Give

by Virodeil



Series: Bob'ika: The Innocent Years [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones
Genre: Drama, Family, Fluff, Gen, Humour, gapfiller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:03:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virodeil/pseuds/Virodeil
Summary: Little Boba has nothing, but he has a perfect present for Dad.But does it end up a gift, indeed?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a words courtesy of Karen Traviss, taken from Wookieepedia and the Online Mandalorian Dictionary. Events portrayed as a gapfiller for Star Wars Episode 2, Attack of the Clones.

1.

 

Dad is going to be… well, so _old_ , in just three more days, I have just realised. He does not seem to care about it, however, although he has never failed to celebrate my own birth with lovely things like outings and new trainings. Maybe because I have only experienced this eight times, while he has experienced it more than thirty times?

 

Well, whatever the reason is, Dad is _not_ going to spend his birthday just like any other day. I shall have to give him… something… at least.

 

Huh. What can I give him?

 

2.

 

I look morosely into my chest of belongings. Huh, what a collection, _all_ from Dad, _all_ in my size: handheld pistol, spare powerpacks, clothes, shoes, boots, raingear, wintergear…

 

There is not _any_ credchip to be found here. Even if there were, Dad is still out working anyway, in our _only_ ship, so I cannot go anywhere to buy anything for him.

 

But maybe, someone – a grown-up, and not one of those clones – could help me? Dad did not forbid me from leaving our quarters to go anywhere round here, except to the waterfront. And even if he did, he would not know if I were sneaky about it, would he?

 

3.

 

“You’re learning Mando’a?” I cannot help being envious and even jealous, and neither can I help those emotions leaking into my accusing tone.

 

CT-something-something, whom I have just dubbed “Rex” so that my head will not hurt whenever I think of or refer to him, raises an eyebrow at me.

 

I flush scarlet. Shab, this is why I dislike interacting too much with the clones: He is looking like when Dad is both irritated and amused at me! Plus a “you little kid” vibe, too.

 

Hey, but Dad seems to like singing those songs in that language, including the lullaby I cannot admit that I like, with a sad but proud look no less whenever he does it…

 

I gulp, scowl at myself, scowl at the trooper for looking so smug as if he knows what I want to do next.

 

And then, “Can you teach me that?”

 

“Teach what, Bob’ika?” he grins, his eyes twinkling.

 

I grit my teeth, glower at him, bunch up my fists.

 

But he just lets loose a long, uncontrollable bout of giggles to my reaction.

 

4.

 

“Co… pa-ani, mir-resh… mure… what?” I huff, scowl at one of my absurdly amused tutors, yet another trooper, whom I have dubbed Cody by the start of our Mando’a lessons yesterday morning. “It’s too long!”

 

Still grinning like a loon, as he has been doing since the lessons started, he corrects me patiently, condescendingly, “Copaani mirshmure’cye, vod?”

 

I have gotten quite bored by yesterday afternoon by all the unfamiliar, not-so-easy-to-learn words, but then I have decided that my mastery of Mando’a – as little as it is – will be the perfect gift for Dad’s birthday. I just did not know how tortured I would be, and not _only_ by learning those words!

 

Shabla troopers.

 

5.

 

Dad returns home right on time for his birthday, as he promised, although he was quite amused about my insistence that day before he went out. I scamper across the hangar, right to the point where the far end of the ramp will rest.

 

He walks down the ramp with a tiny spring on each step, and a wide sunny grin even breaks out on his uncovered face when our eyes meet. His hunt must have been quite successful and… eh, what was the word he used for making lots of money? Lucrative?

 

I respond with a matching grin and rush up the ramp, yelling, “Buir!”

 

“Whoa! Ner Bob’ika,” he blurts, shocked, even as he reflexively scoops me up into his arms, letting go of the helmet that is now rolling clanging down the ramp. His hug is much warmer and much tighter for it; I love it.

 

I love it too, secretly, that his usually tired and a bit empty eyes light up with wonderment and… something – something strong and warm and soft that is meant just for me.

 

I beam at him. “Happy birthday, Dad!”

 

He kisses my forehead and cheeks with much gusto, like I have never experienced before as far as I remember, smiling widely all the while.

 

I love it too. So, when I have found the perfect comfiest place and position in his arms regardless of all the armour pieces, I give him the second gift right away, which I have mastered just in time, hoping that… well, maybe Dad will get rid of these hard jabby pieces and play with me, preferably with the cannon blaster he has been promising to train me?

 

“Copaani mirshmure’cye, vod?”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Buir: parent (Mother/Father/Mum/Dad)  
> “Copaani mirshmure’cye, vod?”: “Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?”


End file.
